


Springtime Promises

by linaerys



Category: BBC Merlin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-26
Updated: 2008-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin go to the Druid Isle for Beltane.  This is the sequel to <a href="http://linaerys.livejournal.com/639953.html">The Beast of Winter</a>, but it also stands on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Springtime Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the speedy [](http://neptuneskisses.livejournal.com/profile)[**neptuneskisses**](http://neptuneskisses.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing and cheerleading!

"Come back to me when the first snowdrops bloom," Taliesin had told his bard, and so, in the early days of spring, when knights gathered back to Camelot, and spring streams of melt-water trickled through the fields, Conn took his leave of Uther's court, and rode back to the Druid Isle.

He took a more northerly route than was direct, in case any of Uther's men should follow, but when he could see the tops of Welsh mountains in the distance, he turned south, toward the isle of his home. Meleagant of Powys had needed no druid trickery to take Conn in as his court bard for a season and then send him on to Camelot, and thus the druids had eyes and ears even in this most forbidden court of all.

Conn had no magic of his own, and so must return in person to deliver his tidings to Taliesin. He set out into the Summer Sea on a small raft, and out of the mists rose a rocky shore that no boat would ever founder upon: the Druid Isle. Taliesin stood on the shore, as if he expected Conn's coming. He probably did.

They exchanged the kiss of greeting, and Taliesin banished the glamour that hid the tattoos at Conn's wrists and forehead. He was home.

"How does our kingly enemy?" Taliesin asked, once the rituals of hospitality had been completed. Conn sat with him on a fur-covered bench in Taliesin's chamber, in front of a warm fire, but the chill of the spring mist still cooled his back.

"He grows old," said Conn. "His people love him, but they do not obey him. The old ways are still kept wherever his back is turned."

"And the land?" Taliesin asked.

"This winter was hard on everyone. The land falters."

Taliesin turned his face toward the fire. He seemed to have aged more than the year Conn had been gone, crossing the boundary between middle and old age in that short time.

"Nimueh wishes me to break the peace," said Taliesin.

"She is like a bird that knows but one song," Conn replied.

"Uther kept Albion in peace and fertility, and so no one would join her, but if that is threatened. . . . I have seen . . ." Taliesin trailed off and stared into the flames. Conn wondered if he saw visions there, a land wracked by strife as it had been in the early days of Uther's reign when kings warred against him and evil black beasts walked the land. "The child, conceived in sacrifice and magic—he will either lead Albion into a time of peace and glory or . . ."

"Arthur is a young man, now, a warrior, although still unblooded," said Conn. "And Emrys is still his loyal servant."

"Pah," said Taliesin. "We would make this Emrys a royal councilor, but he remains in that cursed land, growing up in ignorance."

"He is wiser than you think," Conn answered, "for all that he is an untested boy. He will grow into his power, and charms protecting the innocent guard him for now."

"You must bring them here," said Taliesin. "The magician and his king." The fire flared behind him, and even Conn, without magic, could see the prince's young face there, crowned in hawthorn, streaked with the blood of the hunt. "If he will swear to uphold our ways, to be the king of the land and not just the people living upon it, then we will keep the peace."

"And if not?"

"The peace will not need us to break it. The common folk know a true king by the soil under their plows. They will not long stand for Uther's kind of rule."

**

Springtime came. Arthur was still shoving Merlin into corners. They never talked about it, but after a particularly strenuous training session, or exciting hunt, Arthur was upon him, mouth on mouth, teeth clacking together often as not, hands fisted in clothes. Then hands under clothes until they were both breathless and gasping, leaning on whatever they stood nearest for support.

They never talked about it, neither those desperate fumblings, or Merlin's magic, which got a workout these days, making sure they both looked presentable after. They never exchanged words beyond Arthur's instruction every time: "Say nothing about this."

"Say nothing," when Arthur left a deep bruise on Merlin's neck which necessitated returning to the neckerchief he'd lately abandoned after Gwen told him it looked silly.

"Say nothing," after a tumble on the spring moss, which was still wet and cold from snow melt. The delicious weight of Arthur's body pressed him into it until his back was sodden.

"Say nothing," in a secret passage, hot and close from the fires of the forges, where they shared kisses that tasted of ash and sweat.

Merlin obeyed. Winter melted into spring. The receding snows left the lower city muddy and messy where before it had been picturesque under the blanket of white.

The end of March brought dustings of green to every branch in the forest. Conn returned in the beginning of April, in time for Arthur to fête the returning of the knights. Uther held a feast on the old, pagan New Year: a day for pranks and licentiousness, he strove to keep the knights entertained inside rather than drinking and carousing at the festivals outside the city gates.

At the climax of the feast, Conn told the story of the May Queen, in whose lithe footsteps flowers bloom and frost melts. It was a light enough tale, and most of the court paid it no mind, save a few young girls who tittered and whispered behind their shawls wondering who the May Queen would be. In the absence of a queen of Camelot, Morgana would choose the May Queen.

"The druids sacrifice their May Queen, do they not?" Uther asked after the tale was done. His voice carried to the lower reaches of the hall, and conversation stopped.

Conn's dark eyes betrayed no emotion at that. "At one time, Albion stank with the smoke of sacrifices," he said to the accompaniment of a minor chord on his harp. "But those days are past." Another chord, and now he looked down at the strings, as if to find his fingering. "Now all sacrifices are just, and the May Queen is merely a child with flowers in her hair."

Uther's jaw worked, but there was nothing in the substance of Conn's words he could object to, even if the tone was sharp for words to a king.

Conn caught up with Merlin after the feasting was done. He lodged in warm upper rooms, for the sake of his voice, but his learning had drawn him and Gaius together, and they could often be found sharing a draught in Gaius's study. Conn was an elegant conversationalist, but Merlin could never quite shake the feeling there was more to him than what he seemed.

"Merlin," he said abruptly. "I would speak with you and your master. In secret."

Merlin glanced up and down the corridor, but they were alone. "You'll have to ask him," he said.

Conn smiled wryly. "I don't think that's true. Tell him it concerns the boy Mordred, and the king he may one day become."

Merlin's eyes widened, but he said nothing, and Conn continued back to his rooms.

"Druids," Arthur said when Merlin told him. "I wonder sometimes if my father is right about them. They act as if they, not he, rule this kingdom."

"You helped save Mordred," Merlin reminded him.

"I wouldn't see an innocent child killed on suspicion," said Arthur. "But a spy . . ." He belted his sword back onto his waist. "We will see him."

"Sire," said Conn, when Merlin and Arthur entered his rooms. He inclined his head in a sardonic bow.

"What's this about the boy?" Arthur asked.

"He is well," said Conn. "Remembers you fondly."

Arthur's hand went to his sword. "Spy," he said, an accusation that carried with it a death sentence Arthur looked ready to carry out here and now.

Conn held up a conciliatory hand. "Emissary. Will you hear a tale?"

Arthur's chin came up. "I don't have to listen to this. I can have you thrown in the dungeon."

Conn's fingers moved on his harp anyway, drawing forth a light run of notes that sent a chill down Merlin's back. "It concerns Uther Pendragon, before he was king."

Arthur sighed and looked at Merlin, who shrugged and spread his hands. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. Continue."

"The king before Uther, Ambrosius Aurelianus, lay dying. He named Uther his successor. Uther, in those days, was no more than a war chief, skilled in battle, and popular with his men. He had no will to be king, but neither would he let the country descend into chaos, not when his power could prevent it."

Arthur nodded. This was common enough knowledge, even as the royal chroniclers inserted illustrious ancestors into Uther's lineage: Brutus of Rome and Aeneas before him. Politeness should dictate it not be spoken to the royal heir, but it was not treason.

"The hereditary kings were jealous. Ban of Brittany, Meleagant of Gwynedd, Uriens of Rheged, but none more than Lot of Orkney. They rose up in rebellion against him, mere days after Ambrosius's funeral. Uther had many warriors at his command, but he needed the will of the people behind him, to help his army pass, and hinder his enemies. For that he sought the Druids.

"For he knew that in the minds of farmers and hunters, those who still leave out saucers of milk for the fair folk, the king and the land are one. He came to the Druid isle on May Day, twenty years ago, and swore a great oath, to defend all the peoples of Albion, those who kept the old ways and the new. He swore the oath on their most sacred magical relics.

"And he won his battles. He drove back Hengest's raiders from our shores, and made Lot bow down to him."

Merlin glanced at Arthur. He stood, transfixed, staring at Conn. No one had ever spoken to him of Uther in this way.

"Then he asked our greatest sorceress for a favor. When this favor's cost exceeded what Uther was willing to pay, he cursed the sorceress, and vowed to destroy the Druids. He broke his oath. By our law, that means his life is forfeit."

Arthur sprang at him, dagger drawn. "You—why are you telling me this? He was right, the druids are his enemies."

Conn didn't flinch. "The druids have kept their vows these twenty years. There are those who would see him dead, but most would rather see Albion at peace, even at the cost of our lives. But now the land turns against your father's reign. Famine will bring strife, and the druids are sworn to an older force than your father to keep that from occurring."

"What do you want of me?" Arthur asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Uther hates and fears the druids now. Do you never wonder why he has not marched against them?"

"There's no point," said Arthur. "They are few, and it would anger the common people."

"Has that stopped the king before?"

"I ask you again, what do you want from me? Why should I not have you burnt at the stake?" Arthur paced closer, sword still drawn.

"You are not your father. You call a magician friend, and would save the druids from tyranny." Arthur glanced at Merlin, who swallowed hard and kept his eyes fixed on Conn rather than meet Arthur's. "The druids invite you this May Day," Conn continued, "to make the same oath your father did. If you do, Albion remains at peace, the land flourishes again, and you will be a king remembered long after the stones of Camelot are dust. If you do not . . ."

"Is that a threat?" asked Arthur.

"If you do not, the druids will not have to lift a hand to bring the evil that will engulf this kingdom."

Arthur sheathed his dagger. "Leave tonight, and I will not tell my father of this." The threat in his voice was clear.

Conn shrugged. "Tell him. Ask him about the blood he shed on our sacred isle. Then come, both of you, to the shores of the Summer Sea at Beltane, and do as kings have done since time began." He slipped his harp into its cloth case, which was embroidered with strange patterns, whorls and spirals, symbols of an ancient magic. He wrapped a long cloak around himself. "This was why I came to your court, Arthur Pendragon. You will not see me again inside these walls."

From the battlements, they watched Conn ride out that night, carrying no more than he brought: a harp and a cloak, and a dagger at his waist with the horned moon for a pommel.

As soon as he faded into the darkness of the forest, Arthur turned to Merlin. "Well, obviously I can't ask my father."

"Why not?" asked Merlin. "Conn said—"

"Everything he said is true. I'm sure of it." He leaned on the wall. "There are things he won't tell me about the beginning of his reign. Secrets and whispers. That sorceress who wants me dead but won't kill me herself."

"I—"

"A king has to keep promises, and uphold treaties. How can I do that when I don't even know what they are?"

"I'm sure he's just trying to protect you," said Merlin.

Arthur put his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "I know. But I can't rule in ignorance."

**

"What do you know of the druids?" Merlin asked Gaius the next morning.

Gaius looked at him sharply. "I don't want you messing around with these things anymore, Merlin. You know how dangerous it is for you. If Uther or Arthur should find out . . ."

Merlin put on his most innocent expression, and shrugged. He hadn't found the right way to tell Gaius that Arthur already knew about him, and since all Arthur would ever say on that matter was to command Merlin to say nothing, he wasn't sure if he _could_ tell Gaius. "It's nothing like that," he said.

Gaius sighed. "They are a secretive people. Legends say that they are the source of all magic in Albion, but I don't think that's true. Magic is like spring water. It bubbles up from everywhere." His voice held equal measures of wonder and resignation.

"Why does Uther hate them so much?"

Gaius looked away. "Who can tell?" Then he shook himself. "Magic has been used as a weapon against Uther many times. Surely you can see that. He is harsh, but his suspicions are not baseless." He fixed Merlin with a fierce glare. "Be careful, and remember that."

**

In the spring, Arthur was to undertake a survey of the lands of Albion, to see how they had fared over the winter, and to show the people their prince. The plan was for him to take a retinue of knights, but on the evening before they were to leave, he told Merlin differently.

"We will go on ahead, and make it to the Summer Sea by May," he said.

"What? You're going? But they're dangerous." _They know about me,_ he didn't add, but Arthur's look told him he didn't need to.

"It is the only way for me to find out the truth. And if Conn spoke the truth, it is for the good of the kingdom as well."

They set out early in the morning, before the rest of the knights, and promised to meet up with them in Powys. The reason Arthur gave seemed thin—something about traveling in disguise to see how the people really fared—but it worked on the knights. Morgana would join them in Powys as well, for Uther was considering marrying her to Cyngen, who ruled there.

The great forest that stretched across Albion continued much of the way south and west to the Summer Sea. Deer, lean and hungry from the winter, slipped silently between the vast oaks, and nibbled on green shoots. Rabbits jumped everywhere in the underbrush. Merlin set snares for them when they stopped for the evening and, in less than an hour, had caught a brace of them.

"What do you think it will be like?" Merlin asked. "Beltane on the Druid Isle?"

"I don't know," said Arthur, poking at the fire with a stick. "My father forbade the lighting of the fires. I know it still happens, but . . . do they keep it in your village?"

They did. The young men leaped like stags over the flames, and everyone drank and danced, until the spirit took them and they slipped off to the fields to lie together under the open sky. Merlin had been too young and shy when he was still there, but he had watched, wondering when it would be his turn to take a woman into his arms, hoping someone would ask him and spare him the embarrassment. And now? Arthur would take some druid woman under the springtime stars, and Merlin would be left alone again.

What if Arthur chose him? He was glad his blush did not show in the light from the fire. He knew the ways of man and maid—the Beltane celebrants never worried much about privacy—and had heard jokes about men together, but that seemed far different from what lay between the two of them.

"You can tell me," said Arthur, mistaking his silence for fear. "Your village isn't even in Albion. Uther has no power there."

"They did," he said.

"Did you ever—?"

"I was too young," said Merlin. He met Arthur's eyes over the fire. He told Arthur what he could, of the young men whose leaps over the fire were meant to symbolize how high the wheat would grow in the next year, of the dancing and of children born nine months after. His face grew even hotter.

Arthur grinned lewdly. "Sounds like fun," he said. "Put out the fire and we'll sleep."

The night was alive with the clamor of spring, the low calls of nightingales, the whirs of crickets, and the chirp of frogs in the ponds and streams that lay sheltered under the huge branches of the trees. It was just like being back in his village. He lay down next to Arthur to pool their warmth in the cool night.

Arthur turned to face him. "Did you never want to . . .?" he asked, but instead of letting Merlin answer, kissed him, more gently than he ever had before, no rougher than the night breeze that ruffled through his hair.

Merlin returned it with a will. Yes, he did want to, wanted to lie down at the fires of Beltane, but not with any maiden. Arthur's hands traced down his body, sending a squiggle of delicious anticipation into Merlin's belly. Arthur's tongue traced his lips, and he responded, enjoying the leisurely slowness of this kiss, the reveling in the sensations of mouth on wet mouth, soft and hard by turns. They could do this all night and Merlin would be happy, lost in slow exploration.

Arthur put his arms around Merlin's waist and rolled Merlin on top of him. Arthur's cloak, which had lain on top of them, fell off his shoulders. The night air cooled his skin, but Arthur was hot and hard underneath him, as if he could burst into flames where their bodies touched.

He kissed the V of skin exposed by Arthur's tunic, as Arthur drew Merlin's off of him. Then Arthur sat up and pulled his tunic off, and drew Merlin down on top of him again, skin to skin, as the night mist curled around them.

Their hips ground against each other. Merlin could come just from this, and so could Arthur, but they had this moment, the blanket of night to shield them, why should there not be more? He bit and kissed down Arthur's chest. The hair there was soft and light, a gentle dusting over taut muscles. Arthur's scent, steel and sweat and golden heat, mixed with the smell of earth and new leaves.

He reached Arthur's stomach, his mouth found the smooth hollow of his hip bone where the darker hair started. He unlaced Arthur's breeches, his hands shaking. Arthur reached down and cradled Merlin's face in his callused hand. "You never have to . . . I should have told you that before . . . you should never feel like . . ."

Merlin turned his cheek so his lips pressed into Arthur's palm. He looked up and met Arthur's eyes in the moonlit darkness. "I want to," he said, knowing without words what Arthur desired but wouldn't demand, knowing this the same way his magic could unerringly come to Arthur's aid, the same way iron filings knew to point north.

Arthur groaned, though Merlin had hardly touched him yet, and made low, pleading sounds when Merlin ran his tongue over Arthur's thigh, and felt the pulse thudding underneath. "Merlin," said Arthur warningly. Merlin smiled and licked a long stripe down the length of his cock. The feeling of power was exquisite. If he pressed here, Arthur moaned, if he licked there, Arthur's hip came up to meet him, and when he let the head of it slide between his lips, Arthur gripped his shoulder, and moved him in a rhythm Merlin knew well from times before.

He stopped before Arthur came and climbed back on him again, rubbing the both of them together, until Arthur pulled his head down for a deep kiss. His hips thrust up into where Merlin's hand held them close, and he bit Merlin's neck as he came, as they both did, noises of pleasure mingling with the sounds of the night.

He held Arthur there until his pulse began to slow back to normal, climbed off and lay next to him again, pulling the cloak up around them. He exercised a little magic to make the mess disappear, and yawned hugely.

"What made you decide to go?" Merlin asked. He felt freer to ask such things in this drowsy quiet, away from the strictures of Camelot. "You are no champion of magic." Merlin bit down on his lip. Arthur was still his prince, who had commanded him not to speak of this.

"It is power," he said, rolling onto his side to wrap around Merlin, like he was the pea and Arthur the pod. "Like a sword, neither good nor evil, except what use it's put to." Then, more quietly, "My father is a fool to wish it away."

Is that what he felt, clasping Merlin to him, that Merlin was a sword in his hand? It wasn't an entirely unpleasant thought. He remembered fighting the water beast. Arthur could just as easily be the sword in Merlin's hand—as the dragon had said: two sides of one coin.

He fell asleep with Arthur's chest against his back, one arm thrown over Merlin's waist. He was a better blanket than his cloak, for Merlin woke, warm and rested, with the chirping of the first birds of morning.

Arthur was already awake, seeing to their horses and packing up the few belongings they'd set out the night before. "Good," he said when Merlin looked up at him bleary eyed. "It's a seven day ride to the Summer Sea. We'd best get going."

**

Morgana was dressed for riding when Gwen took her breakfast, the day after the knights left.

"You want to ride?" asked Gwen incredulously. "In two days, we'll be spending a week in the saddle. I'm not sure now's the time for a pleasure jaunt."

Usually this banter would draw a smile from Morgana, and perhaps a whispered confidence, but today she merely tossed her hair and said, "I wish to ride."

Morgana was shoving her sturdier clothes into saddlebags and making a mess of it. Gwen took it from her, dumped them out on the bed, and began rolling them for travel. Trousers and riding books, her hawking habit, and nothing of the finery she would need for the court at Powys.

"We're not going to Powys, are we?" she asked slowly.

"We will," said Morgana, with a dangerous glint in her eye. "But I've something to do along the way."

"What's that?"

"Follow Arthur and Merlin. They're off on some adventure, and I want to know what it is. They left without the knights—that has to tell you something."

"Maybe they just wanted to be alone," said Gwen.

Morgana looked at her sharply. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said.

Gwen shrugged. Arthur and Merlin were not as others; they were even closer than she and Morgana. But Morgana would be jealous to hear of it, and had not given up her thought of marrying Gwen off to Merlin. That fantasy probably shared the same place as her fantasy of marrying Arthur, and their lives never changing at all from this moment. Gwen knew the world didn't work that way.

Morgana left a note in her chambers, promising to be in Powys at the appointed time, and she and Gwen rode off together, following Morgana's hunch. The road was dangerous, so they dressed in britches, but no amount of dirt and disguise could hide the fact that Morgana was a beautiful woman.

"Why don't we ride straight on to Powys?" asked Gwen, their second night sleeping out of doors, startling at every noise. She feared bandits, and the fear was not unfounded. Small bands of Saxon raiders landed constantly on their shores, even in these times of peace. "We're behind as it is."

Morgana's jaw was set stubbornly. "Arthur rode this way. There is something going on, and I want to know what it is."

"How do you know?" Gwen asked.

Morgana looked at Gwen, blue eyes cool in her pale face. "I dreamt it."

They followed on until they reached the shore of the Summer Sea. There a tall woman dressed in blue and red met them, materializing out of the mists as though she had been expecting them. She was not as beautiful as Morgana, but she had a power about her that in Morgana had yet to blossom fully. "Morgan le Fay," she said in greeting.

Morgana squared her shoulders and returned the woman's gaze evenly. "My name is Morgana."

"It will not always be so," said the woman. "I am Nimueh, the Lady of the Lake."

Gwen drew back in fear. She'd heard that name before. Had Morgana's visions led them into a trap?

"I knew your father, long ago," Nimueh continued.

"Uther?" Morgana didn't look frightened, she looked fascinated. "I am the king's ward, not his daughter."

"I know you, Lady Morgana," she said. "You follow Prince Arthur. You are far from home."

"That's right," said Morgana, as Gwen tugged on her arm, trying to get her to stop revealing so much.

"Guinevere," said Nimueh, turning her hypnotic eyes toward Gwen. "There is more to your destiny than you could possibly dream of. You will be loved by two great heroes. You have nothing to fear from me."

Morgana narrowed her eyes at Gwen for a second, or so Gwen thought—the moment passed so quickly Gwen couldn't be sure she'd seen it. "What about me?"

"You fear to marry this Welsh king. Fear not, Cyngen is not your destiny." She smiled, and it seemed to Gwen the smile was full of malice. "There are so many Welsh kings, though, so many alliances for Uther to cement. How will he choose? Uriens of Gwynedd? Meleagant, even, although he kidnapped his first wife from her father, I'm sure he could be induced to take you more gently with your father's dowry as a sweetener."

Now Morgana looked frightened. "Why are you telling me these things?"

"You could be a great queen, Arthur's queen. You could seal your fate this night at the Beltane festival, if only you obey me."

"What must I do?" Morgana asked.

Nimueh beckoned and a boat appeared behind her out of the mists. "Come with me," she said.

**

Arthur and Merlin made good time to the Summer Sea, and stood on its bank a full day before Beltane, by Merlin's reckoning. Arthur looked up at the sun. It sat low on the horizon, orange and shrouded in sea mist. "We may as well camp here," he said. "Tomorrow we'll ride west and see if there's a boat to be had."

Merlin walked to the marshy shore and let his toes get wet in the water. He bent down and took a taste of it. "It's not salty. My mother told me the sea was salty."

"It's not a real sea," said Arthur, "just a marsh that floods in the spring from melt water."

Merlin backed up instinctively from the edge. Boundary places had special powers, his mother had always said, and doubly this, because of its impermanence, neither land nor water. It was a place for water horses, which dragged the unwary to their deaths, and will o' the wisps, which delighted in leading travelers astray. He placed his feet firmly back on dry land and started setting up camp.

The boat came when the sun dipped below the horizon, as the sky started its transition from gold to blue. Conn and an older man stood in the prow, and four silent women worked the oars.

"The four queens of Avalon," Merlin whispered. He'd read this in one of Gaius's books.

The older man smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "No, Emrys, Avalon is far from here, as well you know. They are merely oarswomen. The boat requires four." He turned his eyes from Merlin and said, "Well met, King Arthur. I am Taliesin."

Arthur stared a challenge at him. "My father is still king, druid."

"Pardon me," said Taliesin, his eyes twinkling as he inclined his head. "Betimes I speak of what shall be, rather than what is."

"It takes no sorcery to predict that the son of a king shall be king," Arthur replied. "I came for answers. If I get them, and they are satisfactory, I will uphold the oath of my father to the druids when I follow him to the throne."

"Answers often lead to more questions, young prince," said Taliesin. He didn't wait for a response, but turned and beckoned Arthur and Merlin to join him in the boat. "Your horses will be cared for, do not fear for them. After Beltane, we will return you to these shores."

Merlin darted a concerned glance at Arthur, but Arthur strode ahead, chin held high and arrogant. The boat cast off from the shore with the swish of wood on sand, and then all was silent. Birds did not call here in the Summer Sea, and the mists were all around them. Then they parted, and Merlin could see lights shining out of the growing darkness. The boat pulled alongside a dock, and they stepped out, onto the Druid Isle.

Low stone buildings of stone and wood stood under the eaves of tall cliffs. Taliesin led them to one that stood out as larger than the others. "Rest yourselves before supper," he said. He fixed Arthur in his gaze. "Merlin Emrys does not attend you here," he said sternly. "Here he is as much a prince as you are."

"I don't mind, honestly," said Merlin.

Taliesin looked at him, and suddenly Merlin was reminded irresistibly of the dragon. His eyes had the same impersonal kindness, and the same ability to make Merlin squirm. "What you do in your room is your own affair," he said, "but servants will be provided for both of you."

Clean clothes were provided for them, in the greens and grays that the druids wore. They ate dinner at a simple table with Taliesin. At dinner Taliesin allowed only simple talk, of weather and travel, of songs lately sung in court, and tourneys yet planned for the coming year. He was remarkably well informed for someone who it was said had not left the isle since Uther's war with magic began, but when Arthur asked about this, Taliesin skillfully turned the conversation to other matters. Sword-smithing, this time, and the superiority of British swords over those of the invaders.

Once the dishes were cleared away, and warm wine passed around by silent servants, Taliesin said. "Now you may ask your questions, Prince Arthur."

Arthur stood, and Merlin understood his restlessness. He met problems best sword in hand—this was more Merlin's type of challenge, a question of mystery and enchantment.

"Who is Nimueh?" asked Merlin. "Why does she hate Uther so much?"

"There are those in your court who know the reason, but they are sworn to secrecy," said Taliesin. Arthur darted a glance at Merlin. This explained Gaius's strange reaction whenever the name of Nimueh was mentioned. "But I am not," Taliesin continued. And he told them. Of the magic of Arthur's birth, and Ygraine's death.

"Did she know that would happen?"

"She knew there would be a price," Taliesin answered. "But she had no choice. There was no other way out for her. And Uther needed a son. A son conceived in magic who, by his father's oath, would also owe allegiance to the ways of the Druids."

Arthur looked shaken, but all he said was, "I will honor my father's oaths. It is my duty."

The bed where they spent the night was the most comfortable Merlin had ever lain in. He wanted to ask Arthur if his was the same, full of clean white goose down, but that might be taken as angling for an invitation to that bed. He hadn't shared a true bed with Arthur since that inn, before Arthur had even known of his magic. Being together in this one made him feel shy.

"Why did he never tell me?" Arthur asked. He was turned away from Merlin in the bed, curled on his side. "He says magic is evil, and nothing more."

"I'm sure he thinks it is. Magic took your mother from him." The next words lay unspoken between them, that magic had also given Uther Arthur, and yet he still couldn't forgive.

Merlin reached out tentatively to touch Arthur's back. Arthur seemed to relax at the contact, and so Merlin pulled himself closer, and stroked Arthur's shoulder the way Merlin's mother had done when Merlin was sad as a child, ashamed to be different.

They fell asleep that way, but shifted during the night. Merlin woke when it was still dark—past midnight, though, for the sounds of frogs and birds had quieted, and a hush wrapped the place, broken only by the gentle sound of water against the shore. Arthur was wrapped around him now, warming Merlin's back.

And then Arthur woke. His lips moved on Merlin's neck, his hand cupped between Merlin's legs. His big skilled fingers brought Merlin quickly to the edge and Merlin ground back into the hardness pressing against his buttocks. "Are you a druid, Merlin?" Arthur asked, holding Merlin back from the brink. "They call you Emrys."

"No," he said, caught between pleasure and fear, on a knife's edge that made his heart flutter in his chest. "I don't know why they call me that."

"Good," said Arthur, low and satisfied, and the sound of his voice, the quick movement of his wrist was enough to bring Merlin off shamefully hard.

"Don't you trust me?" Merlin asked after Arthur let go. He turned so they were facing.

"You didn't tell me about your magic," said Arthur, "and now we're here, and they know your name."

"It was your idea to come."

"I know," he said. He pressed his hand to Merlin's cheek. "I'm sorry. I want to be a good king, but there are so many things . . . it's not as black and white as my father makes it."

"You can trust me," said Merlin. He leaned in and kissed Arthur's lips then started to work his way down: throat, chest, a ticklish spot under Arthur's ribs. He stroked his fingers over the hair that led down from Arthur's stomach. "You can trust me with anything."

**

The next day was May Day. Merlin woke late after sleeping better than ever before in the comfort of the down bed. He didn't have to wake to do chores for Arthur; someone had brought them breakfast while they slept. Merlin got up, splashed his face in the basin, and sat down to eat the bread and cheese provided.

After Arthur woke and washed, a silent servant came to bring them clothes and fetch them back to Taliesin's chambers.

"Have you any more questions before you swear?" he asked peremptorily.

Merlin glanced at Arthur. His jaw was set, his chin jutted forward. Even clad in the simple druid robes, power clung to him, of an entirely different sort than Taliesin's. The wisdom of years shone in Taliesin's eyes, but Arthur had the simple majesty of youth, and the charisma that would bind men to him.

"Why do you call him Emrys?" Arthur asked.

"He is spoken of in prophecy as Emrys, the falcon of Albion."

Arthur's forehead wrinkled. "Merlin? I did wonder why your mother named you after a hunting bird, but who knows why peasants do things."

Merlin stared at Arthur like the idiot he sometimes was for a moment then turned back to Taliesin. Taliesin continued, "Merlin Emrys stands in two worlds, the old and the new, and through that boundary flows a powerful magic."

Merlin's blood went cold. Arthur took a step back, placing more space between them, and Merlin's heart clenched. This is what he feared the most, that his magic would separate him from Arthur rather than drawing them closer.

"Who _are_ you?" Arthur asked.

"The son of Hunith," said Merlin. "Until now, I'd never been further from the village of my birth than Camelot."

"But who is your father?" asked Taliesin, in a tone implying he already knew.

"I never met my father," said Merlin. That hadn't been unusual in his village. Children of the great seasonal festivals never knew their fathers, until their face and mannerisms made the matter clear. Merlin assumed that his had died in one of the Saxon raids around the time of his birth. There was no reason to suspect anything else. "Did you know him?"

"No," said Taliesin. "His identity is a mystery deeper than I can plumb. And perhaps it does not matter. Your power has been prophesized for generations. In coming here you fulfill a piece of both of your destinies."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine. But what's 'Emrys'?" Even through his fear, Merlin smiled inwardly. If Arthur didn't like Taliesin's destiny talk, he would hate conversations with the dragon.

"'Emrys' means immortal," said Taliesin, "For your name shall never die."

"What about my name?" ask Arthur, shouldering himself in front of Merlin.

"Yours too, Prince Arthur. Men will tell stories of you as long as stories are told. Now, will you swear?"

Arthur drew his dagger, cut his hand, and spoke the ancient binding formula, native to the Britons from before Romans or Saxons ever came to their shores. An unbreakable oath. "I swear," he said, "that I will return whatever peace the druids offer me. My sword will protect them in times of war, as their wisdom protects me in times of peace." His words had a strange tone, as if they weren't quite his, and Merlin felt the presence of something in this room, greater than the three of them.

"Will that serve?" he asked, his voice his own again.

Merlin weighed the words in his head. It was a masterful oath, one that bound the druids to him as surely as Arthur had bound himself.

"Better than you know." Taliesin seemed similarly impressed. "You will be a great and wise king."

"Excellent. Now what is this ritual?" Arthur asked, managing to sound both puppy-dog eager and a bit lascivious, and it was Merlin's turn to roll his eyes.

**

Nimueh lived in a small stone hut on the far side of the island. It seemed humble for a sorceress of her power, but Gwen supposed that could be another of her tricks.

"You would be Arthur's queen," she said to Morgana when they sat down together before the fire, a fire which blazed up at nothing more than a wave of her hand.

Morgana nodded after a slight hesitation.

"He is here, on the isle. He will take part in the Beltane ritual: the hunting and the planting."

"Arthur?" said Morgana. "He doesn't take part in pagan rituals."

Gwen stiffened with fear, but Nimueh continued as if she'd said nothing. "The woman he takes will get with child. If that woman is you, then you will be his queen."

"He won't—" Morgana started.

"I will make certain he does. You will wear a glamour. He will not recognize you, but he will choose you."

Morgana shrank back, afraid for a moment before pride got the better of her again. "No," she said, pointing her chin up, "I don't need trickery."

"Your father will never marry you to him," said Nimueh. "Not when he can cement an alliance with your hand. It must be thus."

Gwen could see that cool, calculating part of Morgana come to the fore, that part that knew just how to twist Arthur and Uther's emotions into doing what she wished, provided the matter was not too important. Nimueh offered the key to a greater power here; Gwen was disappointed, but not surprised, that it tempted Morgana.

"What must I do?" Morgana asked, her voice as clear and steady as water from a spring.

"Go to the Beltane fires," said Nimueh. She reached out and passed her hand over Morgana's face. It seemed to shimmer and become someone else's. "When Arthur passes, smile at him. He will do the rest."

"I don't see why I cannot hunt," said Morgana. "All I need do is lie back and spread my legs?"

"I thought you would be queen." Nimueh shrugged. "In the old days it would be different. You are the elder; you would as like be king as your brother."

Morgana stamped her foot. "Don't call him that."

"As you wish." Nimueh's lips curved in a secret smile that made Gwen's blood run cold.

"Go down to the fires," Morgana repeated. "That is all."

"You must remain here until evening. If Arthur sees you—"

"We will stay," Morgana agreed quickly.

Nimueh left them, then. As soon as the door closed behind her, Gwen burst out, "My lady, you can't mean to do this."

"Yes, I can," said Morgana. "You heard her."

"Arthur won't like being tricked."

"Arthur _loves_ me." Morgana picked up a mirror Nimueh had left at the table, and looked at her reflection in it. "He won't mind."

"If that's true, get him to marry you the usual way," Gwen pleaded. "Not this."

"What?" Morgana laughed mirthlessly. "Hide myself in his bed?" She looked away and said quietly, "I've tried. Arthur won't disobey Uther."

Gwen knew Uther; he would be as likely to marry Morgana off to the first knight who would take used goods as to marry her to Arthur. She could almost see the disgust in his face, and imagined him saying, "Like your mother, I suppose. I knew I shouldn't have taken you in."

"What if he doesn't let Arthur marry you?"

"Arthur will marry me anyway."

Gwen looked evenly at her, letting the next words die unspoken, but not unheard. _What if he doesn't?_

"I would still have a hold over him, if I bore his child," said Morgana grimly. "It is better than being given like a piece of baggage to whoever pays Uther's price. You must swear to me not to tell him, no matter what happens. You cannot tell Arthur."

"I swear it, my lady," said Gwen.

But she hadn't sworn not to tell Merlin, and he must be here too. Gwen paced the cabin nervously, until Morgana bade her sit. Now Gwen could see beyond the glamour, but when she caught Morgana out of the corner of her eye, it persisted. Morgana looked not like the queenly lady Gwen knew, but a plump cheeked druid woman, natural and innocent.

Twilight fell, and painted the shadows inside the cabin a dusky blue. At length Nimueh returned.

"It is time," she said. "You must leave your waiting woman. She cannot go to the fires."

"Oh, I don't want to," said Gwen, relieved. _She_ had no desire for a big belly from some druid, and this would give her a chance to put this right.

As soon as Nimueh and Morgana had walked over the crest of the hill, she took off at a run on the path that ringed the island. It would take her to the druids' dormitories she'd seen when they came here, and that's where Merlin would be, he must.

**

The hunters disappeared into the forest, and Merlin closed his eyes. He could see portions of the hunt on the backs of his eyelids: Arthur's bare, muscled shoulders as he scrambled over fallen trees, spear in hand. It was nearly dark, but some magic must surround the hunt, for through Arthur's eyes, he could see the dark shapes of trees and branches limned in gold. He could hear the panting of the other hunters, could smell the spring sod their feet turned up. He was _there_ with them, whispering encouragement to Arthur, following in his wake as though they were truly one.

Then he felt something tugging on his arm, and he opened them. "Gwen?" he said incredulously when he saw her. "What are you doing here?"

"There's no time. Morgana is here and Nimueh has a plan for Arthur, and I think it's wrong. You have to help."

"Slow down, Gwen. What's going on?"

She told him that Nimueh was going to trick Arthur into choosing Morgana at the Beltane fire, and Merlin's blood went cold. This is what the dragon had meant, what he wanted Merlin to prevent. There would be no time after the hunt before Arthur chose his woman. Merlin knew that all too well.

"Is she under a spell?" Merlin asked. "Did Nimueh lure her here?"

Gwen bit her lip and nodded slowly. "There is a spell," she said.

"We have to find Taliesin."

Taliesin stood between the great fires. Sparks danced off and singed his robe, his hair, even his skin, but he didn't seem to notice. He turned when Merlin drew close. "What is it, Merlin?" Merlin could hardly hear him over the roar of the fire.

"It's Nimueh. She's planning to hurt Arthur."

The fires blazed up suddenly, and then the roar died down, the fires turned to smoldering embers. Merlin repeated what Gwen had told him, and Taliesin strode out from between the fires, to where the celebrants ate and drank their fill, waiting for the hunters to return. Merlin looked around, but he couldn't see Morgana, just crowds of women dressed in the rough druid homespun.

Taliesin spoke a few words, and Nimueh came to her feet. Merlin recognized her as the servant girl who had poisoned him, although here she wore a mantle of authority rather than the saucy charm she had then. Behind her, suddenly recognizable, stood Morgana.

"This is wrong, Nimueh," said Taliesin. His voice, not loud, quieted the crowd. Even the fires seemed to grow quieter, and the trees leaned in to listen.

"If this Arthur would follow the old ways, then let him," she spat back.

"It must be his choice." Taliesin sounded weary, as if he'd had this fight before. "Take your apprentice and go from here." He turned his eyes from Nimueh to Morgana. "Morgan le Fay," he said, his voice growing chilly, "you are no longer welcome here. Leave now, or be lost on the Summer Sea forever."

Morgana's pale eyes flicked up at Merlin and then to Gwen, standing next to him. Her face crumpled like old parchment and she turned away.

"Merlin . . ." said Gwen, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

"Go to her," said Merlin, and she went. She put her arm around Morgana, who beat at her ineffectually before letting Gwen help her down the hill and into the darkness. Nimueh's eyes flashed a challenge to Taliesin, but under his stern gaze she, too, melted away, into the darkness.

"Does she know?" Taliesin asked him.

"That she is Uther's daughter?" Merlin shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Still, she would trap him. Be wary of her, Merlin. Her ambition will lead her astray."

Merlin nodded and peered into the darkness. The light of the fire blinded him, though, and he could not tell if Morgana stared back at him from the forest, or if they were long gone.

Taliesin put his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "How does our hunter?"

Merlin gave the forest one last look, then sighed heavily and turned his vision inward again, to where Arthur waited, motionless behind a tree.

The silhouette of a deer filled his vision. Its eyes caught a spark of light and glowed green. The spear left his hand, quicker than thought, and then all the hunters were upon it. Someone handed Arthur a knife, handle first, and he cut the throat with one quick, brutal motion. Heart's blood spurted over his hands and those of the other hunters. They painted Arthur with it, streaking chest, throat and cheeks with the dark blood. His arms were dyed crimson to the elbows.

Merlin felt the night's energy shift. The hunt was over, but other things remained. He turned to Taliesin and said, "It is over. The hunters are returning."

A few minutes later, Arthur strode over the crest of the hill, bearing the deer over his shoulders. He wore only his britches?, cut off at the knee. The blood streaking his chest and cheeks, made him appear a noble barbarian, out of some past now lost to legend.

Around the fire, women and men alike turned their heads to watch the young prince walk between them. He looked at one girl, young and comely, who raised her glass to him. She was no one Merlin recognized, but he still repeated Taliesin's spell of unveiling to be sure. Her round cheeks and fair hair stayed the same.

Then he turned away. He did not wish to see this, even if it was the fit completion to the ritual, cementing the bond between king and land.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Taliesin standing there, eyes deep and kind. "You send him out to fight, and he returns to you. That is the way of wizards and kings."

Merlin saw Arthur take the girl's hand, and lead her into the darkness away from the fire, and he smiled weakly at Taliesin. "Yes," he said. "I will wait for him."

"That is the way of wizards and kings as well," said Taliesin.

**

At the edge of the Summer Sea, Morgana and Gwen waited. The water lapped Gwen's toes, cold and forbidding, but nowhere near as cold as Morgana's haughty looks.

"That was a betrayal," she said finally.

Gwen looked out toward the dark horizon. The wizard had cursed them, for all she knew, and they would wander the shores of this marsh forever.

"What Nimueh wanted you to do to Arthur was a betrayal," said Gwen. She wasn't ready to forgive yet either, but she added more gently, "Merlin thought you were under Nimueh's spell."

"He'll tell Arthur," Morgana said angrily, her voice breaking. "He'll never forgive me."

"I don't think he will." Her eyes grew far away. "Merlin is good at keeping secrets. Better than you think."

"Or I could just marry this Welshman." She looked over at Gwen, and Gwen's heart softened. Morgana's face was streaked with tears. "Would you come with me? To the wilds of Powys, away from your friends and your father?"

Gwen kissed her forehead. "I would, my lady," she said. "It would be my honor."

A boat slid through the silent water and nestled in the reeds. Four dark haired women worked the oars. Morgana stepped in without hesitation, and Gwen after her.

"Whither shall we go, Morgan le Fay?" asked one of them.

"Whither, O Queen?" asked another, whose voice sounded just the same, quiet and whispery, like the sound of sand on wood.

"To Powys," said Morgana, authority hard in her voice, leaving the _for now_ to be murmured by the oarswomen, as the boat moved silently over the sea.

**

Arthur found Merlin where he sat on the shore. Merlin had brought some food and drink from the feast, bread and oil, stew and wine, but he touched none of it. When he'd sent Arthur out, Merlin had been full of hope and desire, but now Morgana's treachery seemed like a veil between them, another secret Merlin had to keep. Arthur would not forgive Morgana this, so for her friendship, and Gwen's, Merlin resolved to keep silent.

Merlin couldn't help but smile when he saw Arthur, even fresh from the arms of a willing woman. At least it had not been Morgana, and at least Arthur had come back to him. "You did it," he said.

Arthur spread his arms. "I did. The druids will now accept me as king. And all I had to do was kill a deer and bed a woman. Not a bad day's work." He let his arms fall, as his expression turned sober. "If only the rest were that easy."

Merlin reached out and touched the blood on his chest. It was sticky where it had dried. "Did you not have to shed your own blood as well?"

He held up his forearms, which were scratched all over with red lines, some thin, but others deeper and still welling blood. "The forest took its due. The land has my blood, as I promised."

"Are you glad we came?" Merlin asked lightly. The night was wild with magic and blood, deep currents that Merlin could not understand, but he could feel.

"I've never done a Beltane ritual before," he grinned. "I . . . liked it." His voice went low, intimate and promising. "But you . . . you haven't done one either."

"My village . . ."

"You told me you were too young."

Over the hill, Merlin could see the sparks from the fire, flying up into the air, carrying their prayers for a fertile earth and a rich harvest up into the night sky. Here by the water was cool and dark, lit only by the waxing moon. The wind rustled the cattails growing in the shallows.

"You should get cleaned up," said Merlin forcing a grin. He kicked some water at Arthur and the grin became real.

"I'll get you for that," said Arthur, running after him. Merlin heated the water and beckoned Arthur to follow. Tiny silver fish swarmed around them, drawn by the warmth.

Merlin washed the blood from Arthur's chest, and kissed the stinging cuts on his arms. They lay together, drying in the night breeze. The sound of drums and music, of feet pounding sod, of laughter and pleasure carried down to them from the fire.

Arthur rolled onto his stomach and pulled the plate of food to them. "This is cold," he said with a pout.

Merlin rolled his eyes and warmed it for him. "You're quite useful," said Arthur through a mouthful of stew.

"Don't eat it all," said Merlin. "I'm hungry too."

"Make me." Arthur smiled at him, challenging, the effect made comical by cheeks full of bread.

Merlin could never best Arthur with strength, but a firm knowledge of Arthur's ticklish spots and some well placed knees and elbows and he had Arthur on his back, wrists pinned away from the food. Arthur swallowed his mouthful and smiled indulgently to let Merlin know that he'd only won because Arthur wanted him to. That was good enough for Merlin.

Arthur flipped him onto his back, food forgotten. They joined mouths and hands, skin slipping on naked skin. Arthur's words from before lingered still between them; the sounds of the dancers and the roar of the Beltane fires spoke their suggestion.

"Yes," Merlin breathed, as Arthur's teeth left bruises on his neck, and he ground against Merlin, hard with need. "Yes," he said again, as he guided Arthur's hand.

Arthur's fingers, slick with oil, and cool with the night, opened him. Arthur's face floated above him, as determined as Merlin had ever seen it, watching Merlin so carefully it took all the discipline Merlin possessed not to look away. He was grateful for the shadows that hid Arthur's eyes. Then waiting and quiet breathing and sensations unmatched by anything except perhaps the first time he chose to do magic, and he felt something deep inside himself change.

The pleasure was mixed with pain and effort, but Arthur had run himself bloody in the woods this night, and Merlin wanted something to match it. Then Arthur was inside him. Overhead sparks rose up into the moonlit sky, but Merlin looked only at Arthur, the silhouette of his square jaw set hard under his crown of hawthorn.

When Arthur's hand encircled him, it was nothing like before. That had been a mere game to this: Arthur pinning him to the very earth he'd sworn himself to, bled into. Arthur thrust into him to the rhythm of the drums that sounded on the hill above, and Merlin's world narrowed to this: Arthur gasping, up slick and hard inside him, and pleasure so intense it trod the edge of pain. He came, calling Arthur's name, as a halo of sparks drawn from the fire by Merlin's magic plummeted around them like falling stars.

**

They slept under the stars that night, like all the other celebrants, and woke in the cool, misty dawn. Back in their chamber, Merlin dressed Arthur again for riding, and packed up their things. On the shore of the sea, Taliesin bid them farewell, and gave them some leftover barley cake for their travels.

When they reached the mainland, their horses were waiting for them, looking more rested and well cared for than they had since leaving Camelot. He attached Arthur's saddle bags and adjusted the tack. Arthur's destrier shook its mane and stamped its foot. Merlin looked suspiciously at his own mount. Spending the day in the saddle had never seemed less appealing.

"Come on," said Arthur, "I'll race you to the first bridge." And he was upon his horse with an athletic leap, and off down the road before Merlin even had a chance to fix his own baggage.

"That's okay, I'll catch up later," he called after, and heard Arthur's pace slow.

He climbed onto his horse gingerly. Yes, this was going to be an unpleasant day. "Hurry up," Arthur called. "You'd think _you_ were the one who spent all night running through the woods."

Merlin drew his horse up alongside Arthur's and gave him an incredulous look. Of the two of them, Merlin was less likely to be comfortable a-horse today. "Stand in your stirrups," said Arthur, eyes wide and innocent, tone maddening. "You might find it more comfortable." And he was off again.

Merlin grumbled and touched his feet to his horse's side. Only warhorses were outfitted stirrups. Leave Arthur to forget that. He'd never rode anything else.

He caught up to Arthur at lunch time. Arthur had stopped and caught a couple of rabbits, and was roasting them over a small fire—as close to an apology as Arthur was likely to come. Merlin reached for a piece of the rabbit. Arthur slapped his fingers away. "Wait until it's ready."

"Sure, you know when it's done. You'll overcook it."

Arthur put on an offended expression. "I'm a great cook. There's nothing I can't cook over a spit."

"Excellent," said Merlin, then, imitating Arthur at his most imperious added, "I'm tired. Wake me when it's ready."

It _was_ a bit too well done when Arthur woke him. In his dreams, Merlin had revisited the night before: the fires, the magic, the night spent in Arthur's arms.

"What were you dreaming?" Arthur asked suspiciously. "It looked like fun."

Merlin grinned at him and wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, it _was_."


End file.
